


Warming All The Way

by jadztone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Greg in a kilt, M/M, whiskey distillery AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 11:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Mycroft is entertaining a group of foreign dignitaries on a golf trip to Scotland.  When he takes them to visit a whiskey distillery, he finds their host, Gregory, to be even more smoky and spicy and warming than the whiskies they're tasting.





	Warming All The Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NixxieFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixxieFic/gifts).



> I wanted to write a little something for nixxie-pic's birthday, and an idea popped into my head for a whiskey tasting. Then I recalled a documentary I watched about 5 yrs ago, where I was completely and utterly enchanted with an interviewee from Glenlivet who was talking about the different Scottish whiskey making regions. He spoke pure poetry. I decided to transcribe his words and use him as inspiration for Gregory having the same effect on Mycroft. Link to the video: the bit you want to watch is between 24:10 and 27:50. https://youtu.be/vFkN62p8hKs?t=24m10s

Mycroft had to grudgingly admit that the Scotland itinerary Anthea put together was a big hit so far with the foreign dignitaries.  They loved the golf course she chose.  From an aesthetic standpoint, it had rolling, lush green hills contrasting beautifully with the craggy coastline close enough to hear the crashing waves.  From a practical standpoint, the golf club was very accommodating of security necessary for the safety of Mycroft’s guests. 

Everyone was satisfied with the hotel, and the restaurants also chosen by Anthea.  Mycroft wasn’t so sure about the whiskey distillery tour scheduled for that afternoon.  Surely the dignitaries would not like being torn away from the links, given the beautiful weather forecasted?  Anthea was insistent. 

To Mycroft’s relief, the dignitaries were open to a break in the routine of the past couple of days, and so after lunch they set off to the Glenlivet distillery, about an hour’s drive inland.  They were shown into a tasting room where they would get some history and taste the whiskey, then there would be a tour after which there’d be more tastings. 

When everyone was seated at the bar, a man came in from the back, and Mycroft felt a prickling of goosebumps up his arm that had nothing to do with the slight chill in the air.  The man was _gorgeous_.  He looked to be in his late 40s, his prematurely silver hair gleaming slightly in the soft, low lighting.  He wore a soft button down shirt in a shade of blue that matched the kilt Mycroft glimpsed as he walked in, but was now hidden behind the bar.  The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to just below the elbow, showing off his strong, slightly tanned forearms. 

The man smiled at everyone in turn, and then in a lilting Scottish accent, introduced himself.  “My name is Gregory Lestrade.  Welcome to Glenlivet.  I will be your host for today.”

The French dignitary’s eyes widened.  “Lestrade?  But that is French!”

Gregory’s smile widened into a grin.  “Mai oui.  My father is French.  My mother is a Mackay.  When they met, she told him that she would only say yes to a date if he understood that she would never leave Scotland, not even in a coffin.  So this is where I was raised.”  Everyone chuckled.  Gregory turned his head towards Mycroft and winked.  “But enough of my history, we’re here to discuss the history of whiskey making in Scotland.”

 Mycroft controlled the blush that threatened to invade his cheeks as Gregory began his story.  “There are four recognized whiskey making regions.  Firstly there is the south of Scotland, known as the Lowlands.  The whiskies made in the lowlands tend to be very soft and gentle in their characteristic.”  Mycroft’s goosebumps solidified as he listened to Gregory recite his speech as if it were poetry. 

“Then we have a little island on the west coast of Scotland known as Islay.  The whiskies there are very smoky, very pungent, very distinctive.”  Mycroft felt a little shiver.  The whiskies weren’t the only thing smoky.  Gregory’s voice was throaty and sensual.  He attempted to concentrate on what the man was saying.  “The distilleries on the west coast traditionally have always used peat to dry the malted barley and when you burn the peat, it gives off a very distinctive smoke.  It clings to the malted barley and in turn that flavors the whiskey.” 

“Then we have a huge geographic region known as the Highlands, and the malt whiskies from the highlands tend to be fruity and spicy in their characteristic.”  Fruity and spicy would be how Mycroft would classify Gregory’s cologne, which he’d caught a whiff of when the man came near him.  Gregory was moving back and forth along the bar as he spoke, and Mycroft wished he would come back his way and stay there permanently. 

“Finally we have Speyside, the greatest of all the four whiskey making regions,” Gregory winked at Mycroft again.  “The whiskies from Speyside tend to be sweet and floral and fruity on the characteristics.  After the battle of Culloden in 1746, where the English heavily defeated the Scots, the English taxed the making of scotch whiskey to such an extent that the Scots couldn’t make it legally.  So they began making it illegally.”  Gregory grinned and winked at Mycroft a third time.    He wasn’t winking at anyone else.  The room no longer felt chilly.  Mycroft was definitely getting hot under the collar.

As Gregory continued with some more history, he began setting up small snifter glasses in front of everyone.  Then he uncorked a barrel next to the bar and used what looked like a giant syringe (he called it a whiskey thief, with another wink directed at Mycroft) to pull out the whiskey and then injected some into every glass. 

Everyone took a sip.  Mycroft quite enjoyed his taste, it was delicious.  Gregory took a sip from his own glass, and gave a satisfying sigh that Mycroft felt up his spine.  “Wonderfully soft, wonderfully rounded and rich on the nose.  It just is beautiful. It just goes down so gently, warming all the way, on a cold morning here at the Glenlivet distillery.  This is central heating, as it should be.”  Gregory looked at Mycroft again.  He was close enough that Mycroft could see his eyes were a warm, rich brown, and they twinkled at him as if they were sharing a private moment. 

When everyone had savored the last drop, Gregory came out from behind the bar and indicated that they should follow him for the tour.  Mycroft felt a little lightheaded as he got a full view of the kilt.  The small bit of Gregory’s bare legs that could be seen between the hem of the kilt and the top of his socks, was tantalizing and completely unsatisfying.  Mycroft wanted to see _more_.  He couldn’t believe his reaction to this man.  He kept trying to tear his eyes away from Gregory’s muscular calves encased in creamy knit socks and actually pay attention to his surroundings, but it was so, so difficult.  At one point he looked up and saw Gregory glancing back at him, his expression indicating that he was well aware of what had Mycroft’s attention. 

Mycroft felt relieved when the tour was over and they were back in the tasting room.  Gregory gave them a taste from a different barrel.  Mycroft wanted to toss it back in the hopes that the sudden burn would knock some sense into him.  He restrained himself and sipped the beverage slowly. 

When the tasting was finished, Gregory presented everyone with small gift boxes.  He got to Mycroft last and gazed at him with his chocolate eyes.  “I hope you enjoyed yourself today.”

Mycroft nodded slowly.  “Indeed I did.  Thank you very much for the tour.”  He paused, and then blurted, “Do you like golf?”  


Gregory’s eyes twinkled.  “I think if I said no, my family would disown me.”

Mycroft gave an awkward chuckle.  “We’ve been on the course the past couple of days and we’ll be at it again tomorrow.  I…don’t suppose you would join us?”

Gregory gave him a regretful smile.  “I’m afraid I have family responsibilities to see to tomorrow.”  Mycroft felt crushed.  It was their last day tomorrow before going home.  Gregory stepped a bit closer.  “You know, I don’t take after my mother, when it comes to the land where I grew up.” 

Mycroft gave him a puzzled look.  “Oh?”

Gregory nodded.  “She was most disappointed when I left Scotland to go to London.  I like to tease her that I work for Scotland Yard, but she says it’s not the same thing.”  He grinned.

Mycroft blinked.  “You live in London?  But…”  He indicated the room.

“I’m here visiting my family for the week.  My cousin works at the distillery, but he fell sick and asked me to take his place for today.  I used to work here summers when I was at university.”

“So you live in London.”  Mycroft usually hated to repeat himself, but he was practically dazed from his good fortune.

Gregory gave a throaty chuckle.  “I do indeed.  And I know a great place near my flat that has the finest selection of whiskies I’ve seen outside of Scotland.  Interested?”

Mycroft breathed, “God, yes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! My tumblr page is sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com


End file.
